


Nighttime Visitors

by Anonymous



Category: Hereditary (2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Choking, Demon/Human Relationships, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, During Canon, First Time, Light Bondage, M/M, Nightmares, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22909198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A few days after Charlie's death, Peter receives unexpected visitors during the night.
Relationships: King Paimon/Peter Graham
Kudos: 77
Collections: Anonymous





	Nighttime Visitors

“Mom. What are you doing?”

The moonlight didn’t reach her rigid form as she stood at the end of Peter’s bed, but her face was as clear as day, twisted into a combination of horror and confusion. An explanation wasn’t offered for this nighttime visit, only silence and shifting eyes. Then a whisper from her.

“What’s going on?”

“You were sleepwalking.”

It wasn’t the first time. A few years ago, when Peter had shared a room with Charlie, they’d woken up to find themselves doused in paint thinner. Also covered, Mom had been standing between the beds with the empty can and a lit match. It had been the most terrifying experience of his life, and he’d never screamed as loud as he had on that night. Charlie had been too stunned to react, but his screams had done their job, having helped Mom snap out of her trance. She’d put the match out immediately and gotten on her knees to plead with her kids. Sleepwalking. That’s all it was.

Peter hadn’t believed her then, and he didn’t trust her now. These nighttime visits never resulted in anything good, and with Charlie dead, Mom’s mind was even more fucked up. The recent outburst at the dining table was just another link in a long chain of fuckery, and he dreaded to hear what had brought her to his bedroom tonight.

“I’m sorry... is Charlie here?”

Mom’s hands were stiff, her shoulders were bunched up, and her eyebrows were furrowed. A few seconds of silence passed before Peter asked a question of his own.

“Why are you scared of me?”

Her expression became stony and her voice lowered. “What?”

Peter just stared and trembled.

“I never wanted to be your mother.” She covered her mouth, shocked by her confession.

“Why?”

Her hand left her mouth. “I was scared.” It got covered again. “I didn’t feel like a mother.” And again. “But she pressured me.”

Tears sprang to Peter’s eyes. “Then why did you have me?”

“It wasn’t my fault! I tried to stop it!”

“How?”

“... I tried to have a miscarriage.”

“How?”

“However I could! I did everything they told me not to do, but it didn’t work!” She gave him a pleading look. “I’m _happy_ it didn’t work.”

Peter couldn’t hold back the sobs. “You tried to kill me.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I _love_ you! I love you!”

Back then, she’d said the same thing. And once again, his senses were being consumed by the smell of paint thinner, the taste of it on his lips, and the burning sensation as it sank into his scalp and slid down his face.

“Then why did you try to kill me?”

Mom was also wet. Her blue eyes were mere slits as she shrieked an answer. “I didn’t, I was trying to save you!”

“Why did you try to kill me?”

As Peter continued to sob, flames and the scent of sizzling flesh began to fill his bedroom. Before the roaring fire could reach him, he jolted awake, leaning up on his elbows. His hair and pyjamas were damp with sweat, not chemicals, and the only thing he could taste was blood as he bit his lip. The dead didn’t feel pain. They didn’t need air. But his lungs did, chest heaving as he took greedy gulps.

She didn’t want him. The nightmare wasn’t needed to figure that out. Her behavior had become increasingly telling over the past few days. He was just a little shit that didn’t deserve her forgiveness, even though _she_ was the one who’d insisted on Charlie going to the party. It was all his fault and it always would be. And he would always blame her for these crazy dreams he kept getting.

He rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. It had been hard to fall asleep with all of the shit going on. Charlie’s death and funeral, the distracting red light in the treehouse where Mom often spent the night, the outburst at the dining table, and now the nightmare that had brought back memories of her attempt to kill him years ago. Hell, it was hard just to enjoy some weed without feeling like his throat was getting bigger. The rest of tonight would probably be shitty too.

After closing his eyes, it only seemed to take seconds before he was being sent to a different place. The sky was a lake of fire and the ground was endless sand. A dark castle loomed in the distance, and he chuckled at the long aisle that led there. Hundreds of naked men lined the sides, some fat and others skinny, and they were playing trumpets and cymbals. In front of the castle doors, somebody was sitting on a camel. One hand gripped the reigns and the other arm held a stuffed sack.

This whole thing was like something from an acid trip. Peter’s legs moved on their own, leading him toward the castle. The blaring instruments made his head pound and the sand burned his bare feet, but his eyes were already open. He couldn’t wake up. Did he even want to go back? What could be worse than Mom saying she didn’t want him?

_“She doesn’t want you, but I do.”_

It was a whisper through his mind. When he finally reached the end of the aisle, he could only focus on the beautiful camel rider. A woman? She had pale blue eyes, light skin without a single flaw, high cheekbones, full lips, an orange robe with a cowl that hid her hair, and a fancy crown with gold chains that hung from the horns on either side. Peter blinked and she was gone, taking the camel with her. Someone else appeared in front of him.

“Bridget? What are you doing here?”

He didn’t know why he was questioning her sudden appearance. A minute ago, he’d walked past a bunch of men with their dicks and balls hanging out. The annoying music had finally stopped and they were standing like statues, their instruments dangling from their hands. At this point, a pink elephant could stroll down the aisle and he wouldn’t bat an eye. This was just his imagination going haywire.

She took his hand and led him through the tall doors that opened by themselves. Her tight jeans drew his attention to her ass, and she giggled as if sensing where he was looking. The sound was too bubbly for such a chill girl, but there wasn’t much time to worry about it. A grand feast awaited in the dining hall.

“Mom?”

She couldn’t answer without a head. It was resting in a pool of blood on her plate, and her red hands were gripping a piece of piano wire on her lap. At the other end of the table, there was a burnt body, barely recognizable as Dad from his gold wedding ring. His plate held a piece of black flesh, cut from his own arm. But it was the headless Charlie, sitting to the right, that made Peter gasp. She was still wearing her orange sweatshirt, and her plate held a half-eaten piece of chocolate cake.

Showing strength that didn’t match her size, Bridget pulled him toward the empty chair across from Charlie. He tried to wake up again, forcibly closing his eyes and opening them. This wasn’t funny anymore. It was sick and he needed to get out of this hellish place. He slapped his face and felt the sharp sting, but the chair got closer until he was standing beside it.

“Aren’t you going to eat, honey?”

The question came from Mom’s mouth, and she was smiling despite the detachment from her body. He tilted his head down slowly and stared at the bloody meal on his plate. The jaw was ripped open, the tongue was lolling out, and everything was covered with buzzing flies and writhing maggots. It was Charlie's head that had been found on the road. He yanked his hand out of Bridget’s grasp and strode to the exit, hearty laughter following him. The doors didn’t budge, no matter how hard he pulled, and he sank to his knees with a sob.

“Peter...”

His name was spoken in a sing-song voice that made his skin crawl. He shouldn’t have looked over his shoulder, but he did. The dining hall had transformed into a bedroom. Bridget was on the canopy bed, wearing only a red bra and thong with her legs extended beside her. She beckoned to him with a curved finger and he swallowed hard.

“You’re not her.”

“What are you talking about? I saw the way you looked at me in class. And at the party.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be, not with the crazy shit that had happened so far. Naked dudes playing trumpets and cymbals? A family feast of decapitated heads, burnt flesh, and toxic cake? He stood up and walked to the bed anyway, stopping beside it. Maybe this would help him forget about everything, even just for a short time.

“Just lie down and let me take care of you, Peter.”

He stretched out beside Bridget and folded his hands under his head. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a wet dream involving her. His dick was already getting hard as she straddled him, but something was different than usual. She had a strange smile and dead eyes that stopped his boner in its tracks. A sack appeared in her hands and she tipped it, sending the heads of Grandma, Charlie, and Mom onto his chest. They bounced off and landed on the red silk.

“What the fuck!”

He tried to scramble out from under Bridget, but thick chains slithered over the edges of the bed and secured his wrists to the posts. Her form flickered, becoming the woman who’d been on the camel, minus the crown. He squeezed his eyes shut, having had enough of these tricks.

“I’m gonna count to five and when I’m done, I’ll be back in my room. One...two...three...four...five.”

It was his bedroom all right, but his wrists were still chained and the woman was still on top of him, smiling with satisfaction. This could be worse. It could've been one of those dudes instead. He found a small amount of comfort in that.

The comfort disappeared seconds later when ‘she’ unwrapped her cowl, revealing long blond hair and a prominent Adam’s apple. Then came the untying of the sash and the opening of the robe. There was a muscular chest instead of tits. Abs instead of a soft stomach. A cock instead of a cunt. Yeah, he definitely needed to wake up.

“That's not what you want, Peter.”

The man’s voice was deep, contrary to his feminine face. He slid a hand over Peter’s bulge, making him cringe. He wasn’t gay, and even if this was just a dream, he wanted no part of it. But for a dream, it felt awfully real. The light pressure was causing his dick to get hard again. Maybe he was doing this to himself in the real world. That had to be the explanation. He could just close his eyes and pretend it was Bridget touching him, not a she-male with a dick that was much bigger than his own.

“You will look at me. You will look at King Paimon.”

Peter couldn’t look away, as if a supernatural force was compelling him to meet Paimon’s gaze. The only thing he could do was watch what happened next. Paimon moved beside him and gripped his waistband, sliding his pants down his legs. God, he was so hard and his face felt like it was on fire. A warm hand wrapped around his freed dick and gave it lazy strokes that weren’t nearly enough to satisfy the ache. Paimon was smiling again, blue eyes never leaving him. He was waiting for a beg that wouldn’t come. Peter clenched his jaw and glared at him.

“Stubborn. I wonder...”

Paimon released Peter's dick and rested a hand on his thigh, pulling it apart from the other. Peter didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what Paimon intended to do with him. But wait, this guy was just a creation of his own mind. Was this what he really wanted? To be chained up and completely at Paimon’s mercy? Despite the humiliating position of being spread like a platter, Peter was still rock hard.

“You’re enjoying this more than I thought you would. You’ll be an obedient little host, won't you?”

Host? Fear consumed Peter’s other questions when Paimon knelt between his legs. But again, his body didn’t want to cooperate. Only his eyes could move as he started to pant, watching Paimon tease him. A slender finger traced the full lips and then slid inside. It emerged slowly, glistening with spit. Now Peter was convinced that this thing was a demon sent to torment him in his own bedroom, which looked exactly the same as it always did. His guitar and electronic keyboard propped against the wall, his wardrobe, his hanging hats, his dartboard and basketball net, everything was here. And there was no escape.

"You were mine before you were even born."

Paimon’s finger came dangerously close to a place where Peter had never been touched, and every muscle in his body tensed. The tip circled his hole, drawing another cringe out of him, both from the wetness and the fact that he was playing the role of a girl. But it was the infuriating smile that got to him the most, and he wanted to wipe it off.

The chains unwrapped themselves from his wrists. With the sudden control granted to him, he leaned up on his elbow and swung his fist, aiming for that pretty face. There had to be a way to get this nightmare to end. His attack was avoided by a simple head tilt that pissed him off even more.

“You fuck—”

Paimon silenced him with a hand, fingers and thumb digging into his cheeks. “Such a filthy mouth you have.”

The chains returned, joined by Paimon’s other hand that gripped Peter's throat, tightly enough to cause slight discomfort. It was a clear warning to accept whatever was given to him. To be quiet and allow himself to be used like a slut by this demon from hell.

“Hush, Peter... you’ll find that I’m quite agreeable once you concede to my demands.”

His mouth was uncovered, his throat was released, and the finger moved back to his hole. More pressure was applied than before, and the muscle yielded within seconds. His legs shook from the foreign feeling and the burn that accompanied its continued entry, right up to the knuckle. Slow circles were drawn over a sensitive spot, making his dick jump and drip on his sweatshirt. His body betrayed him by clenching around the finger as if to keep it inside.

He was just as sick as Paimon, who was having the time of his life, eyes drifting between the twitching dick and his penetrating finger. It slid almost completely out, only for a second finger to be added beside it. Peter gritted his teeth as they entered him, but the pain was quickly taken over by pleasure once they targeted that same spot, massaging it gently. This was disgusting, humiliating, and _good_. But he still wasn’t gay. He would wake up or whatever and all of this would be forgotten.

"Will it?"

Paimon smiled and withdrew his fingers, leaving Peter to clench at nothing. When his mouth was covered for a second time, he knew what was coming. The burn reached its highest point as a cock started to slide in, hot and relentless, splitting him open a lot more than the fingers had. A muffled groan was the only sound that escaped him, but the dry friction made him want to scream as he watched the disappearance into his ass. His eyes watered from the seemingly endless length that pushed deep, the torturous girth that stretched him wide, the balls that finally pressed against him. All belonging to a smug bastard that leaned over him, one hand now gripping the back of his knee and the other lifting his shirt up to his chest.

“Can you feel me, Peter? Can you feel how deep I am inside of you?”

His stomach was cramped and even worse, there was a slight bulge. A cock was inside him for the first time and his stomach was _bulging_ from the depth and size of it. He pulled the chains and squirmed, a weak protest that didn’t convince himself. Not once had he asked Paimon to stop. He’d never had such fullness and warmth, never felt these throbs that applied pressure to the right spots. Tears began to leave his eyes, and with another smile, Paimon gripped the back of his other knee and pressed it to his chest.

The thrusts were short and slow, mimicking the movements of a gentle lover. Blue eyes stared into his from above. Blond hair tickled his chest, swept to one side. Pale skin glowed in the moonlight. But this was no angel. It was a demon or maybe the devil himself, delighting in each of Peter’s soft groans. His hole dragged painfully around the thick cock, and the smell of iron filled the air, making his bedroom spin. The only blessing of blood was the slickness it created, allowing him to be fucked more easily.

It was sickening to look at his stomach and see the cock sliding inside him, and he didn’t want to look into the eyes either. They glinted with knowledge of the truth. Through the pain, there was pleasure, and Peter couldn’t prevent the gasps whenever the head of Paimon’s cock brushed against his sweet spot. He couldn’t prevent himself from tightening to feel every ridge and vein. He should’ve been trying to escape, however useless that might be, instead of silently begging for a faster pace or a hand stroking his hard dick. Pre-cum seeped into the grooves of his abs, and of course Paimon noticed. He stopped, just the tip staying inside, the rest covered in a red sheen. Before he could say something, Peter did it for him, tears of shame continuing to trickle.

“Fucking do it. God, please, just do it.”

“God isn’t here, Peter.”

A loud smack resulted from the next thrust, stealing the air from his lungs. It was further cut off by a tight grip around his throat. Black spots danced across his vision, obscuring the pretty face he hated so much. He tried to claw the hands away, but his own were still bound to the headboard. The clinking chains were barely heard over the slick sounds of Paimon thrusting into him, and Peter’s gasps fell on deaf ears as his balls tightened. He was going to come with this demon inside him, and he hated himself for it.

“Let yourself go. Let me feel you.”

There was no choice, streams of white spurting over his abs and chest, and Paimon’s cock seemed to swell even more as he fucked him through it with fast and deep strokes. Out to the tip and all the way back in, creating more of those loud smacks. Peter's body was betraying him again, each spurt causing his hole to tighten around the big dick. As the last shudder swept through him, a final thrust left Paimon balls deep and no longer smiling that arrogant smile. His face was contorted with pleasure as he looked down, not a single inch in sight. No amount of writhing or gasping could get his hands to release, but his cock did, pulsing and filling Peter with hot cum. Too hot, burning him from the inside out and ripping silent screams from his mouth. He was getting filled so much that his ass couldn’t hold the entirety of the load being pumped into him, some squirting out. Booming laughter erupted from Paimon as flames and the scent of sizzling flesh began to—

“Peter. Peter, sweetheart. Wake up.”

He jolted awake to see Mom leaning over him, her face inches away from his own. “What?”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s me. I am so, so sorry for everything. Please, please forgive me.”

He blinked groggily. “It’s okay.”

“I can’t stand the things I said.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

She leaned closer to hug his stiff body and then pulled back slightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Can you get up, sweetheart? We’re gonna try something.”

It was still hard to breathe. He had to do it through his mouth. “I was having a nightmare.”

She smiled excitedly. “Oh, it’s okay. We can do something.”

“Two of them,” he clarified. Not just one nightmare.

“I figured it out. Come on.” As she got up, she touched his hand that was gripping his blanket. “Come on.”

She hurried out of his room, her footsteps heading for the bedroom she shared with Dad. Peter slid off the bed and slowly followed from a distance, left with wetness in the front of his pants, a dull ache between his legs, and more questions than answers.


End file.
